Heartlessly
by LadyLukiCross
Summary: Hermione always thought she'd just get through Hogwarts with nothing but knowledge. She never expected to be friends with the-boy-who-lived, or have to face Voldemort, and Draco Malfoy? What an idiot! Or at least...that's what she used to think. Now...
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you, Astrid Goes For A Spin! You are the world's AWESOMEST beta, as I hope I've shown that to you. People, read her stories. They're wicked awesome.**

**Let's get this over with: I don't own anything.**

**There.**

**That was easy.**

Chapter 1

I walk briskly down the red-carpeted stairs of the Girl's tower. I don't call for Ron to come down, tonight I feel like patrolling alone. The Fat Lady rolls her eyes but says nothing as I march along the corridor, armed with a wand and a healthy suspicion that there will be silly little Ravenclaws out tonight.

For the first few hours, nothing happens. I'm just starting to imagine the smell of coffee, almost asleep on my feet, when a quiet noise jolts energy up into my skull, adrenaline flooding my veins. Somehow, the dark hallways make everything more dramatic.

_. Tap._

The footsteps are soft. Like whoever's making them is making a conscious effort not to, but they're not dulling their progress…. I'm used to hearing them at this time of night, even though I shouldn't. It's almost the golden rule of Hogwarts – do not be out of your dormitory after curfew. Even though I'm a Prefect, I'm only sixteen, and no one with sense thinks it's under their radar.

I'm just not simply important enough to obey.

I wait, silent, against the wall, waiting for the footsteps to get closer. It could be a Professor, I think. But it's not likely. I'm sure it's just a student out after hours, most likely a Slytherin looking for a thrill or a confounded Hufflepuff. There are enough of those around.

My long hair falls in front of my face as I peek around the corner, glimpsing a long, dark shape with a cloaked shadow dancing on the wall.

"Excuse me," I say loudly, pronouncing each syllable sharply. Waiting to see if the person sees me. "Come here!"

I'm not nervous. I'm never nervous, in non-life-threatening situations, or in non-exams situations. Anything academic, I'm practically a butterfly museum.

Not now. Now is a test of my authority. Whoever it is shouldn't be out past curfew, no exceptions.

The person turns toward me for a moment, regarding me, light eyes shining in the darkness. He keeps approaching. I'm confused. Usually, if it's a lowerclassmen, they scatter. This must be a sixth or seventh year that thinks they're too good for a rookie Prefect.

"Who are you?" Shouting, I slowly move my hand to the wand in my pocket. Stealth is never too good.

"You might want to be quiet, Granger, before you wake the whole castle."

Malfoy.

"What are you doing out?" I breathe, trying not to seem too angry, even though I'm steaming. Control. But it's not smart to show him how much he gets to me. Although, you can't say _hate your guts_ much more efficiently than a punch in the face…

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Then leave. I have a job to do, perhaps unlike you. You're still a student, and its afterhours, and I know for a fact that it's not your night to patrol."

"I was, for a matter of fact, told to stand here."

This throws me, although it shouldn't. Why shouldn't a slimy Slytherin lie about breaking rules? "By who?" I snap, skeptic.

"Professor Snape." Of course. Who else would station a Slytherin prefect to cause trouble in the middle of the night?

I sniff, trying to think up a snazzy retort. "Fine." I try to say it with as much attitude as I can. I think S.P.E.W. weakens my snappiness.

I turn on my heel, trying to make my footsteps make as much noise as I can against the stones. He follows, loping along easily, even though I'm practically sprinting.

"Where were you patrolling before?" I ask, trying to break the silence. It frightens me, just a bit, that he seems to anticipate my every move. They way I turn. Where I'll walk. How I think.

"Sixth floor," he drawls, sounding even more bored than before. The way he enunciates draws me in, but I try to fight the changing tide by reminding myself how much I hate him. I can't… I can't… I'm so distracted I don't hear the next few words.

"You…do you enjoy being a prefect?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, do you enjoy flouting your authority over others?"

What an odd question. It sounds like it was originally a feeble stab at a conversation I might like, but the asker got annoyed. I frown and snap, " You seem to like terrorizing the first years enough."

I can't see his face in the shadows, but he looks like he's scowling. "No need to be-"

"Granger." The words are sharp, clear, and low. I swivel slowly, feeling like a cornered mouse. In a patch of moonlight shines Professor Snape's oily head, his hooked nose casting shadows, his limbs stiff with irritation as he raises his lit wand higher, throwing gleaming yellow beams of light over all of us. I glance at Draco. His white cheeks have the smallest of pinks highlighting his high, majestic cheekbones. "Do not let me catch you out when it is not your night to patrol. Just because Professor Dumbledore has seen fit to grant you minute responsibility it does not mean that you can prance from here to Azkaban. Be on your way."

"Yes, sir," I say, smiling gently at Malfoy as I walk away. I feel coloring rising up my neck, and furiously thinking about quenching it only causes it to intensify. I'm glad I escaped more conversation, but it seems like I'm… empty. Hollow. Lifeless.

A warm glow that belongs inside me was drawn away when I left him.

For some reason, this Hogsmeade trip some members of the DA decided to go as a group, despite the enormous tip-off that we from different houses are up to something. Oh well.

Someone calls my name. I avert my eyes from Luna's protuberant ones, watching out of the corner of my eye the way they swirled around with the straw of her… I think it's a gillywater, but I can't tell for sure with all the embellishments she's added.

"Hermione? Hermione? Is it a Wrackspurt?" I look up at Luna just in time to see her batting her hands enthusiastically at Ginny, who swats at her as she tries to put down about five bottles of butterbeer at once. I'm glad I ordered tea, since she looks fed up already.

"Oh, yes, sorry Luna – what? No! Wrackspurt - they don't - no. I just got distracted for a moment," I say, trying not to start an argument by blatantly claiming her mythical creatures don't exist. She's more pleasant to be around that way.

"Oh, good then. I was just thinking…" Ordinarily I would ask what thoughts do indeed go through that head of hers, but I feel so bland and sad today its nothing I want to hear about.

"So…" I can tell by Ron's voice that he's already, so early in his sentence, mocking me. I'm suddenly struck by a thought I push frantically away. How different Draco and Ron are. Besides looking like night and day themselves, Ron always seems to set fires, but Draco smothers them. "I hear you're going shopping with the girls, Hermione?" He snorts, smirking into his lap. I scowl. Wait -

"We're…what?" I hope the panic didn't show up too clearly in my voice.

Since when do I think about Draco Malfoy by his first name, while I'm simply out on a shopping spree with my friends?

Oh, Merlin, what is wrong with me? First I start comparing my best friend to my worst enemy, then I start reveling in a girls' day out?

Ginny bursts into laughter, butterbeer coming out her nose. She wipes it off, tears of laughter squeezing out of her eyes, her face so red it could light her flaming hair. "N-no, Ron. It's just…" she's unable to finish, and covers her face with a napkin, it fluttering up then sticking to her face as she wheezes with excessive hilarity.

"Girl stuff," Luna finishes, a faraway look in her eyes as she dreamily stirs her unfathomable drink.

I don't want to go, I have better things to do. Sleeping, reading, studying, knitting…

Fifteen minutes later, the two have managed to convince me into going to a borderline interesting boutique on a side street in Hogsmeade. Not as flashy as Dervish and Banges, but the clothes are plainer, nicer. I even find myself admiring a white blouse that buttons at my sternum.

As I hand over two galleons, I find myself wondering if he'll like it when I wear it on Prefect Duty tomorrow night…

Since I'm vastly quicker at my shopping, I spend a good forty-five minutes loitering in the main part of the store, toying with the jewelry racks, my irritation level rising while Ginny tries to decide how to avoid spending a fortune and Luna does… something involving what looks like a rain dance. I turn away, trying to appear an innocent bystander.

_That crazy girl? Loony Lovegood? Oh, I don't know her. I was just here by chance. You know, shopping the sales._

Unfortunately, Luna drifts over to me, urging me forward while she holds me by the elbow. I wonder, if, her being a Ravenclaw, she plans to knock me out with that pressure point and lock me up somewhere, like a broom closet, for discouraging her Wrackspurt fantasy earlier. Even though it's certain Harry and Ron would rescue me, I allow myself a brief moment to wonder what would happen if the unimaginable did. If Draco helped them and they all got along. Or even more unbelievable – became friends.

I shake myself out of the unrealistic thoughts that seem to be plaguing me lately and let myself be led along toward a jewelry rack, glancing back for Ginny, to see her staring, frowning really, at a pair of scarlet pumps. Oh, Merlin.

Luna seems calm, but her hand jerks away from my forearm for a second, pointing at a pair of dangly earrings that have huge circles hanging from them, covered in butterflies so realistic they seem to be flying in and out of the frames.

"Crumple Horned Snorkacks eat butterflies," Luna says complacently.

"Of course," I agree blankly, not responding to the sharp poke of irritation.

"I usually make my clothes, but I do quite fancy these earrings. I believe he'd like them…" I do quite wish that Luna would finish a sentence crisply once in a while, not just fading away.

"So are you going to buy them?" Who is he? A thestral? A heliopath? A unicorn she met in the woods?

"I've left my money in my sock, but if I could just-" I almost reach for my purse, where I have a few spare sickles, but then I stop my hand. Who knows what happens with rash actions around Luna?

"We're not stealing anything." I try to be firm, but I can't be sure I made an impression on her.

"I would never say that. All I was implying was that there seem to be a lot of Nargles-"

"No."

She goes slack for a minute, then brightens as a thought occurs to her, but, thank heavens, someone calling her name from behind me distracts her.

"Neville…" Luna sighs. I swivel around, my eyebrows flying up my forehead in surprise that he'd find us.

"Neville," I start, but am interrupted by Ginny, who seems to see what's going on.

"Neville," Ginny says quietly, "Why don't you buy these for Luna?"

He appears to contemplate, but I know he's just desperate to get out of the situation.

"Sure. They're really nice." He looks uncomfortable, but reaches for his money anyway. I'm glad I didn't buy them for her.

And that was that. Neville bought them for Luna, who decided that they'd look better on him, and after he showed her that his ears weren't pierced, and Luna declared that she knew a good spell to pierce them, ('Not very dangerous, I've used it once before, and she may have gone deaf in one ear for a while but she looked so very pretty, or I could pierce another part of your head, if you wanted,') and by the time we ended back up at Hogwarts, Neville had a earring hanging out of his hair, and Luna trailing after him, shouting for her to help fix the other one in too.

"Of course not!" I'm scandalized. Of all things, they expect me to go practice with them when we've got that huge Charms test tomorrow. How dare they.

"Hermione!" Harry looks angry, but he always seems to look angry nowadays. I turn and sniff at him. "You've practically founded the D.A., and now you decide to abandon us whenever you fancy?" His voice is rising, his face a stubborn shade of red.

"My grades are more important to me than a review session," I say firmly, then turn on my heel – somehow, Ginny managed to make me wear the pumps she was looking at, and they're actually quite professional, when turned down to a calm navy. But I lose my balance and go careening into a wall.

Someone grabs my wrists, and I let out a gasp of pain from my ankle and wrist and head at the same time, but I open my eyes only long enough to see a flash of blonde hair. Then I snatch my hands away from his – so long and strong and warm – and rush off, trying to shield my burning face in a cloud of hair.

_The Library, _I think. _No one will find me there – he won't know, and the others are all at the meeting._

I walk in as sedately as I can, pick a Charms book at random and sit down primly, opening to the first page and reading the introductions without absorbing a word. I've gone through several books like this before I realize I've learned nothing. But then again, I'm well equipped, and right now I just want to go to bed.

As I look up, I notice how dark the sky looks out the windows. The D.A. meeting is just coming to a close, and I've long missed dinner. There's nothing left to do tonight but sleep.

I walk with my stack of books to return them to the shelves, and lucky for me they know where they go, I keep dropping them and misplacing them. I'm dazed from something – I try to convince myself it's tiredness, but I can't seem to brush away the feeling of his palms braced against my wrists, keeping me from running away.

_Because I want to_, I insist to myself. But a quieter part says, _No._

I hear a whisper, and I freeze as the sound of someone hissing reaches me through two of the shelves. Behind them, is my favorite part of the library, but lately, I've become so popular, I don't want to lead people there. In the farthest corner is the section on the History of Magic, a subject vastly interesting when it has to do with people and not trolls, goblins, or wars. There's a little, musty old armchair, and a polished desk, where I go to be by myself.

I can tell by the sound of the voices that someone's in my special place.

I put down my books and shift aside another few, giving me a serrated portion of vision of the pair.

A girl is sitting in my chair, her feet propped up. I can tell it's a girl by the shoes, they're very insensible. But then again, so are mine… and on the desk is someone I can only see from the waist down – I can tell they're Slytherins by the green insides of their robes, and I wonder who it is. What upperclassman, by the looks of it, sits on a desk and swings his feet like a six-year-old?

"Pansy, stop." The voice sends chills down my back – pleasant chills. I have no idea why, though. Pansy? Pansy Parkinson knows we have a library? Much less would come? Why? With who? The image that pops into my head isn't pleasant, but I momentarily appease myself by making my mental portrait of her grow antlers. "I don't need to take this, all you say anymore is about…" the voice hesitates, then continues a moment later, after I've scooted forward as far as I can go without revealing myself from suspense. "_Her._"

"How do you mean? You have to agree with me, that _heartless_ Mudblood Granger's not good for you." Me? Good for – oh, no, I don't like the sound of this. But the way she sounds so threatened gives me a rush of power. Me? Hermione Granger, Prefect, Bookworm, Gryffindor, can make her jealous just by existing?

"Shut up. I swear, if you say things like that again…" the speaker momentarily calms himself, and Pansy leans forward in suspense, her feet down from the desk as she goes as close as possible. "…Just don't talk to me anymore. Leave me alone."

In the flurry of movement that ensues, I lose my balance as Pansy darts off somewhere, and the boy who was with her stands, his hands pulling at his hair, and walks straight into me. I fall backward, books flying off the shelves, shocked beyond belief.

Who I ran into doesn't stop.

He doesn't lean down, pick up my books, offer me a hand to get to my feet.

He doesn't even apologize.

He runs away.

But I know who it was. In the fraction of a second we made eye contact, the whole scene made sense to me. Eyes are revealing things, the window to the soul, they say. Well, in the usually cold, gray eyes, I saw confusion and anger.

Malfoy.

But… Draco's soul hurts, too.

**Hermione: Ah! Me…and Draco? Are you **_**kidding**_** me?**

**Luki: Uh…no?**

**Hermione: No! That's all you can say?**

**Luki: Uh…yeah?**

**Hermione: *scoff***

**Draco: *smirk* The next chapter…she's all mine…**

**Luki: Don't get ahead of yourself, Malfoy.**

**Draco: Shut up! You're just a crazed fan girl! No one cares about you.**

**Luki: *muttering to self* Well, as I am the author of this fanfic, I was contemplating just killing him off in the next chapter…or the next…**

**Hermione: Go ahead…it's not like I care….at all…**

**Luki: If I don't get reviews, I feel no need to update…*walks off***

**Draco: Wait, wait! Don't let me die! **_**Review!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you, everyone, for reading so far! I know I'm a slow uploader, I'm such a lazy-bones. Sorry. But that's not important now…Here you go! Chapter two!**

Chapter 2 

It's another long night of patrol for me, but for some odd reason, I'm posted in the Dungeons with Malfoy. For hours we pace the dim, chill halls, peering under desks and around corners, speaking only to ask if the other found something. What we're looking for, however, is a mystery.

It's silent for a long time, and then, Malfoy steps closer to me. I have a vision of an animal closing in on its prey, but I push the thought out of my mind. I've proven, over and over again, that I can take Draco on.

"How are you?" he asks. His voice is low, but he meets my astonished gaze head on. Nothing to be ashamed of, for Malfoy.

"Why do you care what I do?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice. The one time he says something non-insulting, I have to answer like that? I cringe inside.

He smirks. "Am I not allowed to make polite conversation while we're down here for the next five hours?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm not."

I'm curious, but I turn toward him, exasperated. I open my mouth to speak, even though every instinct in my body is screaming for me to run away. "Well, that's your problem. What do you want me to do? We're not exactly bosom pals."

He looks sadder. Certainly not by anything I've said. Nothing I say can impenetrate his smooth, flawless shield. Nothing except Harry can. "Feisty, today, are we? Sorry, but I've been… anxious to know, lately, where all of your and your… bosom friends… have been going lately, on the seventh floor. Care to share?"

He's onto us. I should have listened to myself. Not opened my mouth. But the cat's out of the bag. Nothing I can do can hold it back.

"We're friends," I try. "The whole lot of us. We do things together, often. Not that you'd know, you'd need a few friends to experience the whole effect, Malfoy."

He ignores my comment, and keeps going, completely untouched by my argument. I can't blame him. He knows where we go, to the disappearing room on the seventh floor. "You can tell me, you know. I'd never tell." I know he's lying. The little I pinned next to his prefect's badge glints in the torchlight.

"We… practice. Nothing you need to worry about." I wish I'd run away at the beginning. "Like Charms Club."

He says something else I don't catch, too infuriated with myself for saying anything at all. For a moment, I'd thought he cared. Not much, in a suspicious way, but cared all the same. I've put my neck on the line, and it's my fault if we all get caught.

The Charms test is easy. I almost regret studying so much, but I'm beyond ecstatic to see the grades, I just know I've scored top mark, again, because of my hard work and extra credit and helping Flitwick after class sometimes.

"That was _so hard_," Ron moans, dejectedly dropping into a chair after dinner. I sit next to him, my knitting out and ready, Harry chuckling on the other side.

"And you studied?" he questions.

"Of course not. Quidditch practice takes up a lot of-" he backtracks. "I've been busy. You didn't."

Harry leaps up suddenly, like someone lit a fire under him. "Busy – I was supposed to see Snape tonight. Occlumency-"

I wave goodbye, but he's gone. As I turn back, the portrait hole slams behind him.

"I was in the Library yesterday." I don't know what's making me say this, but the words tumbled out, tripping over each other as I tell Ron all about seeing them. It makes it feel like old times, almost, with us sharing everything we know about something important. It makes me feel heartsick about how different things are, now. I just can't place why.

Ron looks surprised that I told him this, but not that surprised about the way the two of them were talking to each other.

"Stupid gits. Fighting among themselves. Real smart, Hermione, turning the members of their own Inquisitorial Squad against them. But how did you do it?" he sounds actually intrigued.

I'm kind of shocked. Why does he think I did something? Prance in front of Malfoy with a too-small shirt, egging him on? What does he think I am? An idiot who curses anyone who crosses them?

I snap, "When they were done, Malfoy stomped off, knocked me over. He looked sad."

"That brat was crying? Bloody hell, I wish he wasn't a prefect…" Ron shuts his eyes, blissfully thinking of all the punishments he's dreaming of inflicting on him.

"Sure." I'm kind of disappointed he took it so badly, this whole story about Malfoy and Pansy. "I'm going to go. I'll be in the Library if you need me. In an hour I'll go try and find Harry, if he's not done with the lesson."

"Yeah. Okay." He's a bit dreamy, still, so I stand, brush off my robes, and hand Ron by knitting needles by the end.

"Don't break them."

I stalk off, cursing myself. Why did I have to say anything at all? Now I've ruined everything.

I stick my wand in my pocket, and fall out of the portrait hole. How did I do that? It must have been spectacular. I'm flat on the floor, but I pick myself up, and almost walk into Pansy Parkinson.

I almost growl at her, since she's an inch in front of my face. How come I didn't see her sooner? "Granger!" she screams, backing up slightly, since I'm cross-eyed.

"And you need to scream in my face why?"

"Have you heard? Have you heard about me and Draco?" she seems oddly enthusiastic.

"Have I heard what about who, exactly?"

"Have you heard about me and Draco Malfoy. You know him, right?" she's condescending, as if my IQ doesn't outstrip hers by double digits.

"I know _of _him. It's not personal. And what is it you need me to know?"

Pansy smirks, and I notice how crooked her teeth are. I think they'd look better with my fist's indention in it. "Draco's all alone now. He's single. He's not dating anyone at all."

"And, so?"

"And, so, little Mudblood Granger can ask him out. You fancy purebloods, Granger. First the traitor Weasley, Krum, and now my Draco." My stomach tightens, and I have a feeling of violation, as if I'm about to be robbed. I have no reason to be afraid. The muscles from my right forearm tighten, one by one until I'm left with a rock hard fist that craves her face. Control… I repeat the words that I say so often to Harry and Ron. _It's not worth it._

"I. Don't. Move." If I use complete sentences, I might lose control and hit her so hard across the face her crooked teeth will fly out.

"You do. Don't lie, Mudblood." She lowers her voice. My throat constricts, and my vision begins to flicker until I can hardly see, my eyes are slits. If she says Mudblood one more time… "I'm not blind you know. The jitters, the way you get red when he walks by. And I saw you listening to us the other day. Don't let it happen again." She mutters under her breath, "All of you. Potter…Weasley…and Malfoy…mudblood." Viciously.

And before I grant my arm permission, it's flown up and backhanded her across the face, leaving an equally vicious hand print glowing across her mouth. "IMPEDIMENTA!" she screeches. I wonder why the Fat Lady can't see… I reach for my wand, my fingers just closing around the handle and jerking out of my pocket -

"Ah!" I scream, flying backward through the air, banging my head on the bottom of the Fat Lady's frame, the air whooshing from my lungs.

She tsks. "Oh, dear. You're not having a good day today, are you?" I sniff and walk away.

In my rage, sadness, and humiliation, I find myself on the second floor, not knowing how I got there at all. Wearily, I stumble over to one of the sinks, and it's purely by coincidence that it's the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. I stare for a moment at the little etched snake before the tears begin to fall, filling the grimy sink.

Why did I act like that? What she said hurt me, but not enough to hit her. Why am I miserable now? Because I was humiliated by being thrown to the floor? Or because what she said… or because what she said was tr-

"What are-" I turn to see Moaning Myrtle floating, pouting next to me. "What are _you_ doing here again?" she glares at me. "You _promised_, just like those _boys_ that you'd come see me again."

I sigh, closing my eyes, pretending that for one moment I have solitude. That for one moment I have peace. "Myrtle, I'm sorry, but your bathroom is closed. I'm not even supposed to be in it now. And I don't feel like talking."

She pouts. "Who said that _you _wanted to talk? _I _was going to talk." She sniffs. I'm just glad I haven't hurt her feelings.

"All right. Someone else's problems are welcome to me at the moment." She's not offended, and I sigh in relief this time. If I don't let her, she'll scream about Hermione Granger crying in the bathroom. It does seem better since the last time I was stupid enough to – no trolls need to be involved.

"Lately," sighs Myrtle, "I've been thinking about who's fault, _really_ it is I'm dead. And I've decided it was Olive Hornby." `

"It's because of Tom Riddle you're dead," I say patiently. "He opened the Chamber of Secrets and let the basilisk out and it killed you."

Contrarily, Myrtle snaps, "Well, I wouldn't have been in here if it wasn't for her!"

"Technically… but-"

"But? But what? That, there, is a perfectly logical argument I've spent the past three years of my death working on!"

"Well… what did she say that made you so sad?" I can't believe I just asked that. I'll never live this down, my name won't leave her lips for another lifetime. I've never asked such a personal, nosy question in my life.

I hope I won't get yelled at, but prepare to pretend my eardrums don't work, just in case.

"She… she had a knack," she mumbles, "to make me really miserable. All she did was taunt me about this one _boy_ who never did anything to anyone, but I liked him and so did she."

She looks like she's about to cry, and I stay quiet, listening attentively.

"And because she was so jealous, she told the boy terrible things about me and my glasses. And I came here, and died."

I realize too late my mouth is hanging open, just a little, before she's wailing and screaming, trying to banish me from her bathroom, knowing she's said too much.

As I leave, one thought connects to another, and a sluggish, bold feeling spreads across my mind.

I never really thought about Myrtle having… usual feelings.

But when she mentioned someone competing for a boy and being told rumors, and them hurting so much that death was preferable…

I only thought of one person. One victim. One prize.

After trying, with some success, to erase every sign of my tears, I go back to my original task: trying to find Harry. I doubt Snape actually wanted to see him, if he did, he'd have been much more upset and less eager to get away.

It's much more likely he just wants to be alone.

I'm not sure what's happening to him. He seems so angry, and cold, harsh and isolated from everyone else. It might be because of the connection with Voldemort, but I think it is because after all the trauma he went through a few months ago, he's only mocked and ridiculed. Not an ounce of respect.

And so I'm off to find him.

As I round a corner, my head down, watching the flagstones slip by, I run into someone.

Please don't let it be Malfoy. Or Pansy Parkingson. Why is it that whenever I have to run into someone it's someone who hates me?

"Oh. Hermione."

I breathe out, relieved, as I glance up, Harry's face swimming over me through my anxious tears. I blink them away impatiently.

"Harry!" I take a step back. He and Ron have gotten _so tall_. "I was just looking for you. Are you all right? You looked a bit queasy when you left." I've given it away, he knows and I knows he was just desperate for time to himself, the only person he allows himself to understand his situation. He wasn't queasy, and he wasn't going to Snape.

"I have a headache again," he says, and I'm not surprised. He always seems to have headaches nowadays. "And my scar is aching. He's irritated. Constantly." I fall into step beside him, as we meander toward the outside. We might be heading to the lake, our trouble place for walking, but I'm unsure.

"Well, I'm sure it'll get better with time-" I begin, but I'm cut off.

"Harry! Hermione! I've been looking all over for you!"

Harry and I turn toward the source of the yelling, and already my wand is in my hand, ready. Neville comes puffing toward us, frantic.

"Neville," Harry says, fast. I can see plans racing across his eyes. "What's happened?" I know he's thinking of the D.A., Umbridge, or even the Order, but Neville doesn't know anything about the Order.

"Luna's missing!" Neville replies, finally catching up to us.

"Neville," I placate, "I'm sure Luna's fine, you know that she goes off on her own, but she always comes back within a…. reasonable… amount of time-"

"No," Neville exhales with deep breaths, "She was kidnapped!"

"That's ridiculous," I say immediately, and even though Harry's lips formed the words, no sound comes out. Oh, no. He's thinking again that something happened, some theory that only he can understand or see, information withheld from the rest of us. The plans that lead us to trouble.

"Listen to me. I was just, um, in the courtyard, and Luna was standing over a patch of some...flowers, sniffing them, and suddenly some man dressed in all black came along, grabbed Luna, and, well, I don't know. They went towards Hagrid's and past his place to the forest. It doesn't make sense, but you have to believe me. That's what happened. _Please._"

Harry scowls slightly, his brows drawing together as he thinks hard. Rapidly, he turns to me, digging something out of his pocket. It's gold. His galleon! He flips it in my direction. "Tell the rest of the D.A. Neville and I will go to the forest. Get Ron and find us after." Then he's off, running down the hallway, with a worried, still panting Neville in tow.

I tap as quickly as I can the first code that comes to my mind: "COME. NEED HELP. AT HAGRID'S." Simple enough. Then I race up a staircase. I make it through two more corridors before I decide Luna's need is more urgent, and whip around, reversing my footsteps as I fly down the steps onto the grounds.

Someone is near the forest, and I skid a little, stopping in my tracks. Is this the person who potentially took Luna?

I look harder. Something about that shape… Malfoy?

_Malfoy_? Why would he kidnap Luna? With what motive? Information on Dumbledore's Army for Umbridge, possibly?

I turn around as quickly as I can, but he's gaining. I sidestep and press my back against a large rock. But he knows I'm there.

"You're not invisible, Granger."

"I know." I sniff indignantly.

"Hiding from me?"

I open my mouth, fully intending to shout a defiant i/_noi/_, but what comes out is, "I don't know." Softly, meekly, too. Shyly.

I can tell that he's on the other side of the rock, moving closer to me. Moving in for the kill. "Go away."

"Why should I?"

"Move, then."

"Make me."

"Just give up!" I yell, and he comes silently onto my side. He's so close now I can count his eyelashes.

His slight lip turns up in a sneer. "Not likely, Granger."

"Then _let me go!_"

His voice is deeper now, and he seems to want something. I'm cornered, and I'm pushing my head up against the rock, trying not to smell him. "What's the magic word?"

"Avada Kedavra!" I respond, but my words are cut off as he leans forward, pressing himself to me, pushing his mouth against mine, kissing me deeply, sincerely. I'm enveloped in him, the feel of his lips against mine, his nose brushing my cheek, my chin touching his. Now I smell him, the deep, fresh scent of pines and, maybe water. This is what a girl's first kiss should be like. Not a peck and a wave goodbye like Krum.

As my arm rises from my side, intending to rest on his back, I freeze, suddenly realizing what is happening. I draw my knee up and force us apart, screaming, "You _ARSE!_" I kick up dust as I run away, desiring nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between me and that moment.

But it's too late.

I'm trapped.

I won't forget his taste.

And how much I liked it.

**Hermione: Me and Draco? Whaaaaat?**

**Luki: What?**

**Draco: What?**

**Luna: Wha-**

**Snape: Shut up, you blubbering fools.**

**Luki: Sorry, professor.**

**Hermione: *looks away* **

**Draco: You tell them, professor! **_**Granger**_** is trying to seduce me!**

**Snape: WHAT?**

**Luki: Well…stay put for chapter three! There's still more to come.**

**Draco: More? Are you trying to kill us?**

**Luki: Who knows?...*evil laugh***


End file.
